


Bermuda Rum

by skysonfire



Category: Star Wars-ish
Genre: F/M, Forgive me this obsession, Glasses, Rum, Westworld producer, Wine, affair, bermuda - Freeform, curly hair, star trek director, star wars director, sunset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	

When the sun begins its decent upon the ocean, the heat that radiates off the sand, concrete, and limestone finally relents. There's a smell on the air of the fading heat, and there's a moisture on my shoulder from the day. The sky is a hundred cuts of fire and there are stars shimmering in the blue-black beyond. I raise my arm above my head in the doorframe and press against the molding. His shirt hangs at my sides, open in the front, and my legs and feet are bare. My heart is settling, but there is still a buzzing between my slick thighs, and there's a dryness in my throat.

His hand finds my waist under his shirt and he strokes at my skin; the prints of his fingers sticking and catching on the used, spent flesh. His lips rest on the back of my neck and he exhales. I can feel the sound of his voice in the air he emits, and I turn my head to glimpse the soft contours of his fine face.

A breeze finds us from the water beyond, and the salty sensation revives me. "Is this what Hawaii feels like?" I ask.

"In a way," he responds. "There's more. It's ... more far-reaching." I can feel him run his hand through his curls. He's been busy and his hair wants cutting.

I can see the sliver of the moon high above now, and I pull his shirt closer to myself. He hands me a short tumbler touched on the bottom by a coating of fine rum.

"You never drink wine with me," I say, smiling at him.

He chuckles and takes his bottle of water out onto the flora covered patio.

Sinking into the cushion of the nearest chair he speaks sarcastically. "I wouldn't want to lose complete control."

I follow him and the last of then sun's curious rays hit my arms.

"Oh, no, well, we wouldn't want that." I draw in the rum and straddle his hips. Easing onto him, I place my hands on his face and push my mouth against his, forcing his lips ajar and coaching the liquor between us.

He touches my waist and runs his thumbs over my breasts. I want him, but I always do, even when he's far from me, polished, refined and walking on red with another women. He's such a burning thing: a blazing element in this world.

The Bermuda tree frogs begin their evening song and I lift myself from him just as he's teasing the fabric of my panties aside.

I turn from him to face the bobbing lights of the harbor.

"Is that what you want, though? Does it need to be Hawaii and wine?" He asks.

There is a brief silence that passes between us before I respond. 

"Oh, Jake." I look back and smile at him, sadly. "I sure hope not."


End file.
